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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27417484">Images are forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zy_Khrymzynn/pseuds/Zy_Khrymzynn'>Zy_Khrymzynn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nathmarc November 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gun Violence, Image Records, M/M, Massive Timeskips, Museums, Post-Apocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:13:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,647</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27417484</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zy_Khrymzynn/pseuds/Zy_Khrymzynn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when you take a picture it lasts forever. This is the journey of one particular image<br/>Nathmarc November day 6: Picture</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marc Anciel/Nathaniel Kurtzberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Nathmarc November 2020 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Images are forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Twenty-one children filed into a room lit only with four lightbulbs hanging on strings. One of the boys tripped on a piece of rubble that he couldn’t see in the poor lighting. There was a chorus of creaking and hushed voices as the children sat themselves into seats, having conversations in twos and threes. One of the lights flickered for a brief moment, before a girl got out of her chair and carefully balanced herself on her rickety desk, slowly lifting herself until she was standing straight, a boy holding her desk preventing it from moving, and then she tapped the light, which caused it to stop flickering, and then she quickly got back into her chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A minute later, there was the sound of a large ringing bell, and then a lady walked in. She was dressed in the same way as her female students, with a simple grey skirt that went past her knees slightly, a blouse in a simple color (today it was dark blue), black boots with a slight heel, and her hair in a simple ponytail. What differentiated her from her female students was a golden hoop earring she wore in her right ear, and a blue headband with three equally spaced white bands on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good afternoon class, and as you well know, today is W’odin’s Day, and that means it’s time to start class with a picture analysis. Today I have a special picture for you.” Out from behind her desk, she pulled out a large poster, and then put it on the chalkboard. On the ripped, faded poster, two shirtless figures could be seen in a passionate embrace, the first man had long black hair tied into a ponytail, and was pinning the other figure down on the bed the two of them were laying in. The second man had much shorter red hair, and his sky blue eyes, even in this faded picture, showed love for his partner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For some context, the two individuals in this picture are known as Marc and Nathaniel. Marc is the one with the black hair. I’d like you to figure out what is going on in this picture.” The teacher announced. “And I will only answer a maximum of three questions collectively, so I’d like you to ask carefully. Remember, words are important.” The teacher said, and then as the class went to the back of the classroom where the lights barely reached. She decided to sit down behind her desk, the chair creaking dangerously as usual, and sat down to organize her papers and check her files, until one of her students walked forward, a boy with darker skin, primarily straight black hair but with a small shock of dyed blue hair the student kept spiked up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. DeJikaro, I request permission to ask the class’ questions.” He spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have permission, Geethar. What are the three questions you are asking?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The first question is: What is the date this picture was taken, to the closest possible accuracy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An excellent question. And the answer is that this picture has been dated to be sometime between 14 October and 21 October of the year 2024.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That caused the class to start descending into whispers. One girl exclaimed “This is one of the earliest pieces Ms. DeJikaro has shown us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you think she got it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something this ancient must’ve cost a fortune.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or something from the Ministry of Memories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well maybe we can ask about that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s go with our second question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ms. DeJikaro.” Geethar stood up and started. “Our second question is: Who took the picture?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another excellent question.” Ms. DeJikaro replied. “And the picture was taken with a time delay, so there are no other people in this room. And your final question is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where was this picture taken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Barely a couple of miles away, right here in Paris.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The class then resumed their debate, barely paying attention to the fact that the lightbulb that had been flickering blew itself out during the discussion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geethar went up to the front of the class, took a final quick glance at the picture, and then spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our theory is that in this picture, Marc and Nathaniel are romantically involved.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect!” The teacher replied. “Alright, now here’s this other piece from the early 24th century…”</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>After her class got out, she couldn’t help but look at the poster-sized picture she’d shown to the class first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘What lives did you two lead? In what world was there a society where you two were accepted?’ Tears started welling up at the corners of her eyes, and then she pulled out a locket she always kept hidden. Opening the tarnished silver case it revealed a picture of a beautiful young woman, with platinum blond hair that flowed down over her shoulder and out of the frame of the picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘And is it possible for that society to exist here too?’</span>
</p><p>
  <span> A single tear fell down onto the picture of the woman, and the teacher closed the locket. She has a job to do, and nothing is going to stop her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman and a man were walking down a brightly lit white corridor, sunlight pouring in from large floor-to-ceiling windows which showed the sprawling futuristic city covered in plants. The two people took an extra large step over a tree root that was coming from the nearby tree, and then they approached a dias, on which stood a picture of two men in a romantic embrace, hovering inside a glass box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And what do you think of this piece? Nanotech restored it from pretty much tatters when I recovered it from Old Paris.” The female, who wore a white shirt and pants, and various medals and insignia scattered across her shirt, stated. “I’d like your take on it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This looks old, maybe very old.” The man, who was dressed similarly, replied. “I mean, it’s obvious those two are romantically involved, possibly dating or married, although I’d not like to assume.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was my interpretation exactly.” The woman agreed. “And as for how old this is, The nanotech dated the majority of it to October 2024, in the old calendar, although they also discovered a restoration was done in March 2283, again in the old calendar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, an excellent piece, however, I believe I have something in my collection that’s far superior to even that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t my oldest piece, you know, I have something from the -7th century in the old calend-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was the sound of crashing glass, and three people dressed in black tactical gear and large rifles started shooting, the sounds of bullets and the flashing of the muzzle filling the space.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The man successfully dodged behind the platform holding the picture, but the woman was not so lucky, getting hit by six bullets, the crimson blood staining her usual pristine white garment, the blood splatter spraying across the alabaster floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Careful with your shooting!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>A synthetic voice yelled out. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“We don’t want to destroy any artifacts here.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to stop his heavy breathing, but adrenaline was still coursing through his veins. Which resulted in one of the attackers finding him.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Well, we can’t have any witnesses.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A second corpse joined the first, an additional pool of blood on the cold floor, more scarlet blood on white cloth, more blood splatters dotting the floor.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Hey boss, what do you think about this picture?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>One of the figures said, pointing to the picture.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“It looks old, let’s bring it with us. We’re not going to be on Earth for much longer anyways.”</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>A man dressed in elegant bands of rainbow hued cloth walked through his collection of old artifacts from eras long past. Some box he came into possession of thirty years ago, which held weird jewelry, portraits of kings long dead, statues of great scientists and politicians, books written about great leaders (or about anything), all sorts of exotic animal skeletons, and almost anything you can imagine made out of all sorts of materials, everything in separate cages, held in stasis boxes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually he found what he liked to call the jewel of his collection. He didn’t know why this simple hyperdense, zero-balanced, nanotech paper picture, portraying two people simply enjoying their lives. Were these people great men, who’s names would be forged in history forever?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, in fact their names had been lost to time, but it’s still his most valuable piece. Because some people think that history is made by great men and women, people who caused massive waves with actions affecting trillions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s not what history really is. It’s not the massive waves, it’s the quadrillions of people who just lived their lives, causing a few tiny ripples here and there, making a few friends, documenting the struggles and fortunes of their life, and then they die. Sure he has countless books, statues, pictures, and all sorts of icons of great people, but those are mostly as distraction, sacrificial pawns if someone tries to rob his museum. But what he’s most interested in is his books of normal people and massive gallery of images of people living normal lives. Some of these stretch back for centuries, people who are long since dead, the only memory that ever exists of them are the images in his gallery, walking past row and row of just normal people living normal lives. This is the real treasure, memories. So that’s why that one picture is his oldest one of people living normal lives, people he doesn’t even know from millenia long past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What is your story, mysterious people? How did you live your life so long ago? Did you have a good life? These are questions that will never be answered at all, and that’s why he liked this picture so much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Who would have this picture when he’s long gone?</span>
</p>
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